Curious
how the littlest
gash of white light
which swims past the iris
in the eyes
of a friend—and,
at the bedside,
how the meagerest drip
from a night light
will abate, in those
great tracts of land
deep inside us,
some vast and ever-
roving pestilence
of black. Perhaps
that's why the endless
redundancy
of stars
has never
done more than
the littlest bit
to bore
or discourage their
bewildered observers.
